Of War And Fireworks
by OoJuliaoO
Summary: Sherlock AU. It's John's and Sherlock's first New Year's Eve as flatmates, but what happens when Sherlock discoveres that John needs him? Maybe John will discover that Sherlock can be a big softie, or maybe he does not.


**Of War and Fireworks**

 **A/N: This is Sherlock AU. It's set on the day of the first New Year celebration John and Sherlock have had together.**

 **It's hurt/comfort and can be seen as Johnlock or strong friendship.**

 **I apologize for any mistake I made, keep in mind that I am not a native speaker.**

 **Thanks and have fun reading!**

 **Do I need to mention that BBC Sherlock doesn't belong to me? If it would either Johnlock or Sheriarty would be Canon!**

It was New Year's Eve, the first New Year's Eve he would spend with a flatmate, maybe even friend. And for John it was the first New Year's Eve spend at home after a long time. Maybe that was the reason, why John had been so quiet all day. Sherlock wasn't sure. Normally he could read John like an open book, but today it just wouldn't work.

The day at the crime scene had been boring, no person to catch. That the mother was the murderer was obvious to him. Of Course Lestrade and his men didn't saw it like that, but it really had been quiet simple. It was obvious by the colour of her nail polish.

Anyway, the cab ride back to Bakerstreet had been quiet and Sherlock began to wonder if he had done something wrong again. He'd just made tea when they arrived back home and hope that John would forgive him. If he hadn't done something wrong he would have to investigate further.

And so he did. He placed the cuppa in front of John, who smiled a bit and thanked him.

"Since when do you make tea?", he had asked surprised and Sherlock had just shrugged sheepishly.

"I thought since you've been so quiet all day, I may have done something wrong." John's smile grew.

"No, no you didn't do anything wrong. It's nice to have you making tea anyways." Sherlock couldn't help smiling back, while John chuckled quietly.

"Why have you been so quiet then?", the consulting detective asked solemnly.

"It's New Year's Eve, the first I'm spending at home for a very long time. I guess it's just melancholy."

"Melancholy? Is that one of those moments where sentiment is involved?"

"Yes. You know, I remembered the New Year' Eves in the army and was wondering how my comrades are doing."

"I'm sure they're doing fine. Otherwise Mycroft would have told you" John grinned.

"You think so?"

"I'm sure. I told him to keep an eye on the events in your unit."

John's eyes widened a fraction as he stared open mouthed at Sherlock.

"You did what?"

"Really, John. I thought that sentence was quiet easy to understand. I told my brother to keep an eye on your former unit", Sherlock sighed exasperated.

"But why?" Confusion was evident on the Doctors face.

"Because I thought that you'd like to know. I'm sorry if I crossed a line, but-"He was interrupted by his flatmate.

"Thank you, Sherlock! Really, thank you. You're right, I do like to know", suddenly he grinned. "And you, Sherlock Holmes, are a big softy at heart. I always knew it."

"Better don't tell anyone, they might lock you in a psychotic ward if you do", was the dry reply. John couldn't help but laugh and Sherlock felt a warm feeling in his heart, to see his Blogger a bit happier than moments ago.

A few hours later they were standing at the window to look outside and wait for the firework to begin. The clock chimed and Sherlock put his violin away.

"Happy new year, John", Sherlock smiled.

"Happy new year to you too, Sherlock", John smiled back and turned to watch at the first colourful patterns to show in the sky.

Sherlock however kept an eye on John. Fireworks were dull anyway. He noticed that John tensed a bit and that this tension seemed to grow with every rocket. At an especially loud crack he could make out a slight flinch of the man besides him.

Suddenly the pieces fell together. The sound! John had been in memories all morning and now the sound, which sounded distinctly like guns and rifles and mines. He cursed himself for not thinking about it sooner. He knew that John had suffered from PSD. Without further ado he grabbed John shoulders and stirred him towards the sofa, sitting down with the Doctor besides him. John's eyes were glazed over and his breath was coming in short gasps.

He grabbed the trembling shoulders firmly.

"John, can you hear me? It's Sherlock." A slow blink but no other reaction. Cupping the face of the ex-army captain with his hands, he forced him to look at him.

"Concentrate on my voice, John. You're home. It's alright. You have to try to breathe more slowly." ´Fearful eyes looked into icy blue ones.

"But they're dead. They're dead and I can't help them, and…" His voice was weak, unsteady and filled with regret. Sherlock felt a sharp pain at seeing his Blogger so afraid and vulnerable. He felt useless. And he felt helpless. He wasn't good at these kinds of things. Taking a deep breath he spoke again.

"John, concentrate on my voice. It's Sherlock. You have to breathe in time with me, ok? Can you do this for me?", he tried again.

"I can't. I have to help. They keep dying… blood…"

He knew that he needed to calm John's breathing. The only way he would calm down to. As he got still no reaction he cupped his hands in front of John's face to regulate the carbon dioxide income, and after some minutes, which seemed like hours, John's breathing became calmer and his eyes weren't as glazed as they had been before. He cupped his face again and softly caressed his cheeks.

"John?" Brown eyes moved to look right into his.

"Sherlock? Oh god, I'm so sorry, I didn't-", but he was interrupted by Sherlock, who saw his rambling for what it was, a distraction, and wrapped his arms around the other man. It may be that he didn't like sentiment or body contact very much, but this was John, and those rules didn't apply to him.

The Doctor shuddered and broke into sobs.

Sherlock's heart broke a little at hearing John's quiet, gut-wrenching sobs.

"It's ok, John. You can let it all out. I'm here" He kept on babbling words of meaningless sentiment, while he rubbed the man's back and caressed his hair.

"It's stupid", John muttered quietly after he had calmed down.

"What is?"

"This! I should be able to handle a bloody firework. I've been with you at crime scenes, have seen dead people and shot a bloody man, but I can't listen to a firework?"

He held the Doctor a few centimetres away from him, so he could look into his eyes.

"It's not stupid, John, it natural. You have seen so many horrifying things and you've been through so much. It's alight to let go once in a while. You needed it. It's not good to pend up emotions like this. It was obvious that at some point memories would surface and take over. And I don't judge you for it, John. You know that I'm always there for you if you need me."

John looked away blushing and scrubbed at his face.

"You know what, Sherlock? You're even a bigger softie than I would have thought", he grinned before turning serious again.

"But thank you!"

With those words both men stayed on the sofa, arms wrapped around each other, knowing that if they wouldn't have met, they probably weren't alive anymore.

 **A/N**

 **Well, it's not worked out or anything, it's just something that has been stuck in my head today. I needed a story were John would be afraid and stuff. I've read so many fanfics where Sherlock is afraid of thunder or fireworks that I just needed one the other way around.**


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